


To This Day

by Sulla



Category: The X-Files
Genre: AU two-handed Krycek, Angst, Krycek tops, M/M, Mulder bottoms, POV First Person, POV Mulder, PWP, confused Mulder, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 10:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11273799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulla/pseuds/Sulla
Summary: Title:  To This DayAuthor:  SullaFandom:  X-FilesCategory:  M/K, angst, non-con, PWP, Mulder povRating:  NC-17 for graphic non-consensual sexual interaction between twomen.Summery:  Mulder recalls the events of his last encounter with Krycek.Disclaimer:  All X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013Productions, and Fox Broadcasting.  No copyright infringement intended, andno money is being made in this venture.  As for the song lyrics, well, Ishamelessly pilfered the pantry of R.E.M. - The song is called, "Bang andBlame" from the "Monster" LP.******************************************************





	To This Day

If you could see yourself now baby;  
It's not my fault you used to be so in control.  
You're going to roll right over this one;  
Just role me over, let me go  
You're laying blame  
Take this as a no, no, no, No NO

You bang, bang, bang, bang and bang,  
Blame, blame, blame  
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang,  
It's not my thing so let it go -

 

@@@

 

To this day, I still don't know how it happened. I'm such a light sleeper;  
no one should be able to breach even the admittedly lax security of a  
roadside motel without my waking up instantly. Before, I would have thought  
it insanity to think that anyone could enter my sanctuary and do things to  
me like the things he did... and for Scully not to hear, not to come to my  
rescue. The walls are paper-thin in these places. How could it happen?  
How could it happen to *me*?

I never know what to do with myself in the hours before I can  
finally sleep. I'm already halfway to being a chronic insomniac; I'm lucky  
if I get five hours of sleep a night at the best of times. But when I'm on  
a case, especially a case like the one I was on then, where children are  
being eviscerated in their beds and I seem to be powerless to stop it, it is  
not unique for me to go days with no more than 15 minutes of shut-eye. So,  
there are some long hours to fill in, late at night, when I'm alone with my  
thoughts. I wish I could be like Scully; no matter how awful the crimes we  
investigate, she sleeps like a baby at night. Probably because I push her  
so hard during the day, that sleep is her only respite from my demanding  
presence.

But that night was different, and I've never been sure why. Did  
he somehow slip me something to knock me out? Had the four previous days of  
sleeplessness simply caught up with me, even though that rarely ever happens  
in my life? I would tend to guess the former, but I had the bottle of  
water, which was the only thing I had been drinking from that day, analyzed  
when I thought that might be a possibility. Of course it came up clean, and  
one more of life's little mysteries eluded me. I guess it could be just one  
of those flukes, I just happened to get tired enough to conk out so solidly  
I couldn't hear him picking the lock, but my rational mind, the part of me  
that also wants to deny that I had any part in the proceedings of that  
night, screams at me otherwise. I think I know deep down that somehow I  
knew he was coming. I knew, and so my body prepared me through sleep,  
therefore conveniently making it possible for him to gain access to my body  
through the weakness that is my unconsciousness.

I remember waking at some point that night, before he came. The  
room was thick with darkness; the black could have been scooped out with a  
spoon, impaled and held on a fork. The lack of visual stimuli soothed me,  
and eased me back to a sleep that would probably not have been physically  
possible in a dark less solid. The last thing I remember before his tongue  
was the image of my sister in my sleep-clogged mind. She tends to appear to  
me on these child cases so often that I've almost become used to it now. Call her my  
inspiration, my muse, or my conscience--she's always there, ready to send me  
on.

When I rose to awareness again, I was confused. I wouldn't say  
I knew something was off, because I didn't; I only knew that I felt good,  
and that the dream I had been having was one I was familiar with. I often  
had such dreams, dreams where he came to me alongside my supervisor and my  
partner, dreams where I was the center of their sexual attentions. I  
remembered these dreams, but they didn't bother me; I had such a nonexistent  
sex life that I was happy with what I could get, even if they did involve men.  
I consider this a bit of an aberration to my understanding of my own sexuality, but my  
mind seemed able to entertain itself in countless ways, for which I am  
thankful.

My first clue that something was amiss was the immobility of my  
arms. They had been raised above my head in a way that is usual for me in  
sleep, but this time when I tried to bring them down, they wouldn't budge,  
and the first hint of pain traced its way sensuously from the ropes binding  
my wrists along the nerve paths in my arms to my groggy brain. I hissed,  
more with the fear of being tied down than from the discomfort. Then I  
became aware of that tongue.

A slow, wet movement along the inside arch of my left foot was  
the first contact that I was aware of, though there could have been more  
before I had awoken. I could feel the coolness of drying saliva on several  
parts of my body, my calf, and my right hip, just below my left nipple. The  
stroking of that tongue on my foot was slow and methodical, and sent  
involuntary shivers up my leg, stopping for a moment at my already rigid  
cock before moving onward to my mutinous mind.

Shaking the last wisps of sleep from my consciousness, I  
attempted to assess the situation around me. The room was lighter than  
before; the sun must have just then been peeking over the horizon. So when  
I strained my neck to raise my head, I was able to make out a dark form at  
the end of my bed.

@@@

If you could see yourself now, baby  
The tables are turned,  
The whole world hinges on your swings;  
Your secret life of indiscreet discretions.  
I'd turn the screw and leave the screen,  
Don't point your finger -  
You know that's not my thing.

@@@

I have to admit it. I panicked. There I was, tied to my lumpy,  
cheap, sleazy motel-issued bed, with some weirdo licking my feet. And was  
sporting a raging erection to boot. What would you have done in such a  
situation? I should think so.

So I gathered air to my lungs on one great breath, and was about  
to spill that air hot from my chest, laden with a shriek, when my assailant  
anticipated my cry for help. In a movement so swift it would have taken my  
breath away, the man who had been so sedately lapping at my instep one  
split-second before launched himself at me, landing with a audible ::thud:: on  
my chest and stomach. And that actually *did* force the air from my lungs.

Eyes bugging out of my face, I struggled helplessly to breathe,  
while the face of my attacker hovered over my nose by less than an inch. I  
recognized the fucker, and my eyes bugged out even further. I'm sure I must  
have looked like the F.B.I.'s version of Roger Rabbit by that point. I  
swear, that the guy didn't get his own eyes poked out by mine is a small  
miracle in itself.

Momentarily forgetting the struggle to breathe, my face twisted  
into what must have been a hideous grimace, and I bucked my body in an  
attempt to throw my assailant off of me. The man only laughed.

"Oh, Mulder," he said, his evil smile stretching to show  
straight white teeth. "You don't think it'll be *that* easy, do you?"

Apparently my lungs had just needed a short rest from their  
heaving attempts to drawn oxygen, for when I next attempted to gather air  
into my trachea, it was much easier, and I was able to speak. Sort of.  
What came out was a breathy squeak, not unlike an exclamation expelled from  
the mouth of a 14-year-old boy in the throes of puberty.

"KryCEK!" I squealed, instantly and foolishly embarrassed at the  
sound.

He sniggered.

"Yup. Hi, Mulder. You've got something I want," he whispered  
seductively, bending to position his hot mouth over my ear canal. The  
blazing little gusts of air tickled my ear canal, making me wince with the  
need to poke something down there, maybe a q-tip, maybe a pair of fucking  
bolt-cutters; it didn't matter to me. All I knew was I couldn't scratch my  
fucking ear, and a deranged homicidal manic was perched on my naked chest,  
his ass only inches from my weeping erection.

I could not believe I was still hard. This was Alex Krycek for  
fuck's sake, for real, not a dream. The cocky bastard. Rage  
bloomed fiercely in my chest. Then I made my first mistake.

"You goddamn cocksucker! Get off me!" I panted at him, my  
breath still short. This was a huge mistake, because if I had just waited  
long enough for my lungs to recover from his landing, I could have made a  
*real* call for help, one loud enough to rouse my slumbering partner to come  
to my assistance. But my comparatively quiet insult seemed to remind Krycek  
of something he had forgotten; at that point, his eyes opened wide for a  
moment, and then narrowed again to an evil, menacing, smirking near-squint.

"Ah, thanks for reminding me, Mulder."

He moved only slightly above me, still straddling my chest, and  
reached behind him; suddenly I was staring directly into the greased barrel  
of a Glock.

"I can't believe I almost forgot to set the ground rules,  
Mulder. Okay. Number one, no calling for help. You do so, you get at best  
a pistol-whipping upside the head, at worst a bullet in the brain. Number  
two, no biting."

I narrowed my eyes quizzically at that one.

He paused to let the implication sink in, then continued.

"If I feel even the hint of teeth, the same punishment goes.  
And number three, you do as I tell you. I can make this very easy, or very  
hard, Mulder. Just relax and enjoy yourself."

By this point, I was starting to get an idea of what it is I  
'had' that he wanted. My heart started to pound, and I broke out in a cold  
sweat. He was going to... to...

"No," I whispered, unable to keep from letting the fear show on  
my face.

Krycek's twisted little smile just twisted further. He removed  
his gun from my face, and laid it, cocked but with safety engaged, on the  
bed next to my armpit. If only my hands weren't tied! I shifted underneath  
him, mind racing for some kind of answer, some kind of way to get out of  
this. I didn't dare cry out; the glitter in his eyes told me that he wasn't  
just bluffing about the "punishments" he said he would enact.

My eyes did a quick circuit of the room, as I tried to look  
anywhere but at him, then they ended up coming at last to rest reluctantly  
on his face once more. He was staring at me, that evil little grin still  
tacked in place.

I finally (and about time, too) felt pure rage suffuse my mind.  
I addressed him, quietly even though my voice shook with fury, going by his  
"rules" just in case. "Krycek. If you so much as *touch* me, I'll  
rip your head off and shove it so far up your ass that you'll be watching  
the sunrise out of the hole in your neck."

His smirk never wavered.

"Well, *something* is going to go up *someone's* ass..."

Inside, I quailed. Fuck. He had the control. I couldn't  
even think. All that would come to my mind was the sensation of his ass  
on my chest, and my insane, horrible wish for him to move back a foot, so he  
was sitting directly on my cock.

Slowly, he shifted to my left, pulling his leg over to that side, and I  
could breathe a little easier with the pressure off my chest. I watched his  
face with a steadily sinking feeling as his eyes hungrily swept my body head  
to toe, pausing for a considerable time at my crotch. Finally he smirked at  
me again. He held eye contact as he reached his hand out to pluck at the  
edge of the sheet that covered my naked body.

I couldn't help it; I tried to squirm away from his hand,  
desperate to keep him from seeing my hard-on. My mind was reminding itself  
over and over that I had woken up with this erection; it wasn't what he was  
saying that had given it to me. I was scared shitless; I shouldn't have  
been hard at all. I had never been with a man. I had no wish to be with a  
man. Yes, I had gotten hard when I had beaten Krycek before, but I told  
myself that was because of the power trip that beating a person puts you on.  
That wasn't much reassurance, though, as I was disgusted by the fact that I  
could get off on the pain of another, even if it *was* Alex Krycek.

As I attempted to retreat, Krycek merely followed my truant body  
while it shimmied away from him with his hand, and finally he pulled the  
sheet down slowly, unmasking my shame. I saw his grin spread to a sickening  
leer, and watched his eyes light up like polar flares. I turned my face  
away, horrified. Strong fingers dug painfully into my chin as he pulled my face  
back towards him. He stared silently into my face, that horrible grin  
finally having faded slightly, and I began to shake under the ferocity of  
his gaze. Anger, I thought. I must channel this into anger. So with a  
jerk of my head, I pulled my face from his grip and turned away from him  
again. Not much, but it was as much of a rebellion as the bindings and his  
very real threats allowed.

I lay there silently, waiting for him to grab my face again, hit  
me, something. But I was not expecting the soft licking and gentle sucking  
of my nipple, which turned out to be his next move. Reflexively I arched my chest into  
his mouth before I could stop myself, and a gasp escaped my lips as he took  
the nub between his teeth. I shook with the fear that he would bite me  
hard, taking the sensitive bit of flesh right off.

But he surprised me, and simply tongued the nipple, finally  
releasing it in favour of moving to the other. This time I managed to  
swallow my hiss of pleasure, biting down mentally on the sensations that  
racked my body. After a taking my right nipple between his teeth too, he  
let it go with an audible pop.

My face was still averted, so I didn't know what he was doing  
until I heard the quiet rustling beside me. I listened intently, not  
wanting to give into the fear of the unknown, but I couldn't stand not  
knowing what this maniac was doing next to my exposed body. I kept waiting  
for the next violating touch to alight, but the seconds ticked by, and when  
none came, I couldn't help myself. I turned my head back to look at him.

Krycek had taken off his leather jacket and t-shirt, and was in  
the process of sliding his dusty black jeans off of his legs. He wasn't  
wearing underwear. God, I thought ridiculously, how could he stand going  
commando? Ick! But, paradoxically, I felt my cock harden further at the  
sight. He was bent over at the waist, pulling off his socks, so I couldn't  
see more than the upper part of his ass and that lean, broad,  
wide-shouldered back, with its muscles rippling powerfully under his skin as  
he moved. I realized that I was admiring it, and instantly felt sick to my  
stomach.

I started when he finally ripped the jeans off his feet all the  
way and tossed them across the room. His head turned quickly around at the  
sound of my gasp, and that smile was back. He slowly turned the rest of his  
body to face me, and sat up on his knees.

My eyes were draw invariably to his crotch. There was no  
stopping it. I had to see what was very possibly going to be the first  
foreign object that had ever been inserted into my anus. Somehow I have  
always managed to avoid the wonderful prostate exam, and thank God, my  
parents hadn't believed in rectal thermometers. But when I saw his cock,  
jutting proudly outwards from his nest of soft, dark pubic hair, my heart  
fell into my ankles. Fuck. It would rip me in two. He can't do this! *I*  
can't do this!

His cock was fucking huge, thick and swollen, purpled and bruised-looking in  
the hazy pre-dawn light. Its head shined with the pre-come that was leaking  
steadily from the slit at the top. As I watched, a drop began to descend  
from the tip, stretching out a thin, gossamer strand, lowering and lowering  
until it was obvious it was going to land on the edge of my stomach.  
Finally the almost morbid fascination that had held me still until that  
point broke, and I began to cringe away from him as far as the bonds  
allowed. Which wasn't too damn much.

Before I could get anywhere, though, Krycek was straddling my chest again,  
moving in that silent, lightning-quick way he has. Suddenly I found my self  
face to face with the erect and dripping penis of my worst, most hated  
enemy. It bobbed before my face, all but mesmerizing me with fear.

My eyes remained riveted to the waving column of flesh just inches from my  
mouth, and so when his hand appeared in the corner of my vision, descending  
steadily to his groin, I hadn't seen it coming. He gripped the base of his  
penis, pushing it down so that the dripping, swollen head was positioned at  
my lips.

I tore my eyes from it with a supreme effort, and fixed Krycek with a  
furious scowl, even though what I felt most was fear and humiliation. His  
face was slack with what I recognized as lust, eyes shining dully; plump,  
sensuous lips slightly apart. His mouth stretched once more into a lazy  
grin as our gazes met, and I knew then that there was no point in hoping  
that somehow I would elude this ultimate humiliation. My eyes dropped once  
more to the penis that was so close to my mouth that I could smell the  
smoky, musky scent of him, and set my mouth shut stubbornly. There was no  
hope of getting out of this, but I sure wasn't going down easily.

Krycek seemed to enjoy the prospect of a challenge; he laughed softly at my  
resistance. Then his cock touched me as he guided it back and forth against  
my closed mouth, slicking my lips with pre-ejaculate. This he did for what  
must have been a minute or two, but what felt like hours - hours that  
threatened to slip into eternity. Then, still gripping his penis by the  
base, his hips flexed slightly, only slightly, and I felt the rigid steel of  
that erection digging against my lips and, through them, my teeth as he  
ground its head against me.

I grunted with the discomfort, and the thrust ended, but his cock didn't  
leave my lips. He cleared his throat above me.

"Open your mouth."

I shuddered, shaking my head slightly. God, no...I didn't want this monster  
's penis thrusting into my mouth...in my throat...on my tongue... But when  
he moved to reach for his pistol again at my continued defiance, I knew it  
was foolish to resist him. After all, it was just a blowjob, right? It's  
just flesh in my mouth, and maybe if I got him to come right there, he would  
be satisfied with raping only my mouth, and leave my ass alone. And that's  
what really mattered, right? So I opened my mouth.

The second my lips parted, Krycek thrust his cock violently into my mouth as  
far as he could go, and I had to work hard to keep my gorge from rising. I  
could feel the thick head butting against the muscles in the back of my  
throat, and was relieved when he pulled back again to give me a little  
breathing room. But at the apex of the withdrawal, he rammed that hard  
length right back in, further than before, which I had not thought possible.

He released his grip from his cock, and threaded his hand through my hair,  
grasping it in his fist and raising my head off the pillow. He began a  
steady rhythm, pillaging my mouth and my throat as if he was Gaius Julius  
Caesar running rampant, claiming all of Gaul for Rome, conquering my face as  
his fist yanked on my hair like it was a battered and beaten opponent in  
long and bloody war.

This I suffered for what seemed like hours; the suffering made all the worse  
by my traitorous body's interest in the matter. His unrestrained plunging  
and thrusting sent shivers of pleasure straight to my cock, and I was soon  
thrusting my own hips in time with his movements, searching for friction  
that was not to be had. Finally Krycek's movements became erratic, and I  
knew he was approaching climax. I quickly tried to pull my face away,  
turning it aside, but his grip tightened, and I couldn't get away.

I could feel the little pulses and spasms at the base of his penis on my  
lips when he buried himself to the hilt in my throat, and a split second  
later he exploded into my mouth with a grunted, "Fuck, Mulder!"

Jets of hot, bitter fluid hit the back of my mouth, most of his semen  
pouring directly down my throat, but some washing back to lay the taste of  
his seed onto my tongue. To keep from choking on what was running down my  
esophagus, I had to swallow frantically to clear the passage. In the  
process, what part of it was on my tongue rolled around on my horrified  
pallet, forcing me to swish Alex Krycek's semen in my mouth like I  
was sampling a fine wine. Finally, he drew his softening cock back out with  
a sigh, and I swallowed reflexively what was left, grimacing at the taste  
and thought of what I was doing. I hated every second of it. Really.

My eyes were closed, and I preferred to keep it that way; the embarrassment  
and shame of having to swallow the come of the man I though that I loathed was  
getting the best of me. I could feel Krycek climbing off my chest again.

"That was great, Mulder, really. I always knew you would make a great  
cocksucker. Your mouth so hot and wet-and you even swallow!" he said  
mockingly.

I said nothing, feeling only the heat that suffused my face, hoping he could  
see it in the gradually lightening room. But he certainly did see  
something.

"Well, well. What's this? You liked it as much as I did, did you?"

I must have jumped a mile when his hand rested itself gently on my aching  
cock. He just chuckled, and he began a slow, lazy stroke, his thumb moving  
up to the catch the drippings at the tip to lubricate my shaft. My hips  
began to thrust involuntarily into his hand as my body's excitement grew.

'Oh yeah, Mulder, you did like that. Do you want me to reciprocate?" he  
asked, his voice a low growl.

Inside my head, I was screaming yes, yes, do it now, please! But,  
thankfully, the words caught in my throat, and all that came out was a  
pained groan that probably expressed more than the words would have  
themselves. Krycek laughed again, and after a few agonizing moments, I felt  
the bed shift and his hand lifted my cock up. Then he was on me, I was in  
him, in his mouth, and I jerked and shuddered against him, trying for  
leverage to thrust fully into his hot wet mouth. His tongue swirled around  
the head of my desperately straining cock, sucking up my fluids, making me  
gasp.

This he continued for several moments, when he then stretched out beside me,  
and pushed his groin against my leg. I froze as I realized what I felt, and  
I felt my heart take up residence in my big toe again. He was hard. Again.

Oh God, what would he do to me know? I had thought the threat was gone...

@@@

You've got a little worry,  
I know it all too well.  
I've got your number,  
So does every kiss and tell  
Who dares to cross your threshold,  
Or happens on your way.  
Stop laying blame,  
You know that's not my thing.

@@@

Krycek, obviously feeling me freeze up, gave a few last laps to my cock.  
The traitorous thing didn't seem to respond to the perceived threat of that new hard-on  
pressing into my calf, staying stubbornly excited and erect. He raised his  
head to look at me, and a sly grin slithered across his features. Meanwhile  
his hand continued to milk me; pulling me, with my mind kicking and  
screaming, closer to the inevitable climax. He watched my face as I neared  
fruition, so I closed my eyes to halt the process of his leering expression  
crossing into my subconscious.

When I was on the brink he stopped, pulling his hand away gently.I don't  
think I expected anything different from him. It would have been too easy.  
There's no way he would ever have let me go without working for it, without  
suffering his torture. Panting, I kept my eyes screwed shut, willing him to  
leave, to go, to finish me off, to fucking do *anything*, just so I wouldn't  
have to lay there and think about what had happened; about how all this flew  
out of control.

"Turn over."

My eyes snapped open, and the look of fear was so obvious that Krycek  
actually thought to comfort me.

"It's okay, I'll take it slow. It won't hurt."

His eyes shifted to the side for an instant, and then met mine again.

"Too much," he amended. He paused and started again. "Then it won't hurt  
at all, and you'll like it. I promise, Mulder."

By now I was all but cringing; I thought I could feel my ass already  
beginning to ache. To tell the truth, I had no clue what it was going to  
feel like. I had never let this be done to me before. Not that I hadn't  
been with men, but in those situations, I had always been the fucker, not  
the fuckee.

I fixed Krycek with a glare, defiant, hoping against hope that maybe I could  
influence him to not do this. But he just laughed, a full, throaty sound,  
and forcibly turned me over himself before I could even gather myself to  
resist. Desperate ideas of how to escape flitted through my mind, most of  
which involved using my feet, which were not tied, but I knew that no matter  
where I kicked him, he would be able to grab the gun just because I couldn'  
t, and it would only end up aggravating him to no end.

Finally I decided to do nothing; if he was going to rape me, he was going to  
rape me, and that was it. But maybe he *would* be gentle with me if I didn'  
t resist; he could definitely make it horrifically painful if he chose to.  
Kicking him in the balls would almost undoubtedly be a shortcut to intense  
pain, and I didn't want to know what else.

Of course I realize now that under all this mental arguing with myself was a  
desire to justify my staying still and letting him do this to me. I know  
now that I wanted it. God help me, I wanted it, and I wanted it from Alex  
Krycek, and I couldn't bear for that to be true, so I had to make a cover  
story for my conscious mind. Is that so horrible? I still can't bear it.  
To this day I can't believe I let him do it without fighting him more. But,  
my defence today is that he had wound me up so tightly that I was ready to  
do anything for release, even face my fears of penetration.

So I struggled against him only half-heartedly as he shoved a pillow under  
my hips, raising my ass into the air, leaving me exposed to him and his  
desires. Luckily there had been enough chain between the handcuffs to allow  
a little slack; that turning over thing could have been rather painful on  
the wrists. But as it was at that moment, the only thing hurting was my  
pride. My right cheek was pressed hard into the mattress, and my hips  
thrust mindlessly into the pillow, finally achieving the friction I had  
craved.

Seeing me humping desperately, Krycek laughed again.

"Oh, Mulder! Aren't you just the little slut." This he punctuated w  
ith a stinging slap to my right buttock. I jumped a mile, my yelp of  
surprise turning quickly into a moan of arousal as the shock and humiliation  
went straight to my cock.

I was moaning steadily by then; it pains me to admit it. I  
thrust and thrust and thrust into that pillow, feeling my exposure  
deliciously, that stinging warmth on my ass; I humped like I had never  
humped before, moaning, driven half mad with lust. If he would just get it  
over with and put it in me! But I couldn't ask, I couldn't...I (did)didn't  
want this, damnit!

But he didn't seem to be in a hurry.

"So, slutboy, will you give yourself to just anyone like this,  
or is it just me?" he asked, and I burned with shame. I didn't answer. But  
his question didn't give pause to my movement; in fact the arousal grew at  
his continued use of the word "slut", and the thought of giving myself to  
just anyone, and the thought of giving it to him, Alex Krycek, only him...

When he saw that I wasn't going to answer him, he chuckled once  
more, and moved off to rummage through his jacket, returning with something  
that I was hoping was lube.

Finally I felt his hand on me, his slicked fingers slipping  
between my buttocks, poking teasingly at my hole. A finger would dip in for  
a moment, just a few millimeters, then it would be gone; then it would be  
back again, only to veer off again just as quickly. Finally, the next time  
his finger poked in, I had had it, and I thrust backwards violently,  
impaling myself on Alex Krycek's index finger and the groan that ripped out  
of me could have woken the dead, but not Scully, somehow.

The feeling of the finger inside me was strange, but not as of  
then painful. It caused a light burning sensation, and a feeling of  
fullness; it was just what I wanted.

Krycek laughed abruptly, but kept his finger still, inside me  
but not moving, and I was going crazy. Of course that was undoubtedly what  
he was wanting, because when I began to slowly fuck myself up and down on  
that digit he began to talk quietly, his voice a growl coming deep from  
inside his chest.

"Oh yeah, you're a slut, Mulder. You'd give it to anyone,  
wouldn't you? You'd let any man take you, fuck your mouth, take you up the  
ass... Or maybe it *is* just me you want. Me, who betrayed you, who you  
*think* killed your father...you want me to fuck you again, but fuck you for  
real this time..."

He inserted another finger on my backstroke, and pain tore a  
little strip to my brain, but it was over soon, and he crooked his fingers  
and felt for my... That's it!

Pleasure exploded through my body as he continued to massage my  
prostate. Krycek chuckled again, then went on.

"Do you let the other agents fuck you, Mulder? Do you suck them  
off in that basement office of yours? Do they take turns bringing you home?  
Or do they all do you at once, lining up to get the chance to plough into your  
tight hole..."

He slipped a third finger into me. I yelped in pain, but kept  
on back-thrusting, stretching myself over Krycek's digits, skewering myself  
on his hand.

"...maybe taking you on the bathroom floor... How about A.D. Skinner? Does  
he mine your shaft on occasion? I bet you'd love some *disciplinary action*  
from him, wouldn't you?"

By then I was all but delirious with arousal, and I thought I was going to  
go insane if he didn't stick his cock in me. I was about to break, weeping  
and crying, to beg Krycek to just get to it and fuck me already, when he yanked his fingers out of me  
again. I sobbed quietly at the absence, feeling my rectum attempting  
already to recover, twitching its way to closure again. I pushed back into  
vacant air for a moment, searching for him, but suddenly there was something  
blunt and altogether too big at my anus and, oddly, I froze.

Krycek just laughed at me, laughed at the incongruity of my fucking myself  
on his fingers, but cringing when his penis came into play. He grabbed my  
hips then, and shoved.

Despite the stretching, pain ripped through my ass as the head popped into  
my rectum, and I gasped. He barely gave me a chance to adjust before moving  
on, sheathing himself with my body in one long, fast, hard thrust. When he  
was in as far as he could go, he fell over me, panting and obviously  
fighting for control, and I was glad for the lack of movement so I could  
wait for the pain to dissipate.

After a couple of moments, Krycek began moving, gliding slowly in and out of  
me, giving my prostate a good rub with each inward thrust, giving me  
rhythmic bursts of excruciating pleasure. I tried to shut my mind to the  
fact that it was him doing this. But I *wanted* to think that it was him  
doing this. I was confused even as he fucked me. My guilt complex was  
working overtime as his speed and force increased, as he slammed into me  
over and over. The sound of skin slapping skin, the feel of his balls  
hitting my ass as he hit the zenith of each thrust, distracted me. I was  
getting off on my own confusion, I realize now. I have such a fucked-up  
mind. But we all know that already, don't we?

"*Yeah*, my little *slut*, you're my *whore*, I want to *fuck* through the  
*ground*," Krycek grunted, punctuating every couple words with a vicious  
thrust, sending his penis careening through my soft tissues. I felt him  
reach around and grab my dripping, desperately swollen cock, and start a  
fast rhythm on it, in time with his own movements.

With this new, finally direct touch, I raced towards orgasm. After what  
couldn't have been more than five strokes, I felt the heralding tightness in  
my balls, and my body finally whip-lashed into a climax like I've never felt  
before. Every molecule in my body seemed to instantly pool in my crotch  
only to shoot violently out of my cock. I writhed and moaned my pleasure  
beneath that pounding body, covering Krycek's hand and the pillow under me  
with my hot, sticky semen.

I lay there twitching, complacent, as Krycek strained above me, pounding his  
way in and out of my unresisting body, and he came only scant seconds behind  
me. His whole body went rigid, and I could feel once again the spasms in  
his cock as he pumped out his seed to bury it deep inside my body. He gave  
me a few more half-hearted thrusts, then he collapsed above me, panting  
breathily into my ear.

We lay there like that for a moment or two, and then he commenced to snuffle  
soft kisses against my cheek, rubbing and nuzzling his nose into my neck. I  
stayed silent, eyes closed, absolutely humiliated, to the point of what I  
felt right then was beyond redemption. I was angry, too, deep down; how did  
he have the colossal gall to act like this now, after raping me, for god's  
sake? But my guilty conscience played first violin in this symphony, so I  
swallowed the little crust of anger, and wallowed instead in the stinking  
pig's mud of my tattered psyche.

Krycek sighed heavily, and with a final peck on my cheek, he levered himself  
off me, and I listened as he began to dress himself. I didn't move. I didn  
't want to. Hopefully he would just go away, and let me torture myself in  
peace. But, no, that would be too *easy*, right?

After the sound of his dressing, there was a lengthy silence. Finally, when  
he realized I wasn't going to move, let alone say something, he spoke up.

"There's some information here for you in this envelope on the nightstand,  
Mulder," he said. Great. He came to give me information, but decides to  
throw rape into the bargain. Wonderful. What a guy. I couldn't believe he  
was talking to me like this, especially right after he had said all those  
things to me while he fucked me. But I stayed silent.

He sighed expansively at my lack of response. Then, "Don't  
blame yourself for this, Mulder. You didn't have a choice. Remember that."

Ooo, I thought, isn't it nice that he's thinking of my feelings.

All he got from me was more silence. He sighed again. I heard feet  
approaching the bed, softly, then felt something very light hit the back of  
my head, and bounce onto the mattress. I finally looked up to see what it  
was. A handcuff key.

"There," he said. I still wouldn't look at him. I had vowed at  
that point to never look at him again unless it was to watch as he turned  
blue under my choking hands, but I really knew even at that moment that I  
wouldn't greet him with violence next time. At least not that kind of  
violence.

"I'm not so insensitive that I'd make you yell for Scully to  
come untie you. I doubt you need that right now."

I didn't respond even then. How nice of him, I thought  
sarcastically.

"Okay, Mulder. See ya."

And then he was gone. I carefully unlocked myself, and got up  
to fetch myself a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. I didn't think I was going  
to be going back to sleep anytime soon. Then I sat on the bed, and thought.  
And kept on thinking right through to when Scully knocked on my door to let  
me know she was ready to start work. And then I thought all day, and all  
through the night.

And now I'm home, a couple of weeks later, and I'm still  
thinking about it. What would I have done different? How could I have  
prevented it?

And, worse, would I really *want* to have prevented it?

Finally, the biggest question of all. What will I do when I see  
Alex Krycek again?

Well, you can bet one thing for sure. What I'm gonna do, he's  
not gonna be expecting it.

@@@

You kiss on me, tug on me, rub on me, jump on me,  
You bang on me, beat on me, hit on me, let go on me...  
You let go on me.

@@@

******************************************************

**Author's Note:**

> I just starting watching the The X-Files from season 1 again, so I decided to hunt down all my XF fic from back in the day. For instance, I wrote this story almost 20 years ago. Please forgive my 20-something brain if you don't like it. It has been difficult, hunting down fic from the turn of the century, but luckily they seem to exist out there! Thanks to all those XF archives out there! (Whispers of X) :D


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